Beast of Caledonia (21 page)

Sara said, “No,” again, but if Annachie heard her, he did
not acknowledge it.

He stalked toward Septimius as the tigers had stalked her in
the ring. As he rounded the fountain in the middle of the garden, Sara saw him
pull something from a leather pouch at his waist. The torchlight reflected off
a large blue stone. His dagger! Her father must have found it among her
belongings. She looked at Quintus but he was watching Annachie.

She had no doubt Annachie remembered the heft and feel of
that knife in his hand, but a dagger was much shorter than a sword. And it was
all Annachie had. A chill ran down Sara’s spine and she squeezed Drust so hard,
he whimpered again.

As Annachie got closer to him, Septimius started stepping
backward. Annachie started up the steps from the garden into the house, his
gaze never leaving Septimius’ face. The slaver said to the guards, “Kill him.”
When he saw that the men made no move, Septimius said again, “What are you
waiting for?
Kill him
!”

Annachie turned his head and stared at each guard in turn.
The men looked at each other. At a nod from one of them, they all dropped their
weapons on the marble floor. The man who had nodded approached Annachie and
slapped him on the back.

“Beast, we are glad you are alive. It is good to see you
again.” Then he bowed to Annachie, turned sideways, and swept his arm toward
Septimius. “He is yours, brother.” Following his lead, each of the other men
bowed to Annachie or grasped his hand, then turned and walked away. They each
smiled or sneered at Septimius as they passed him.

“Wait! Where are you going? You are my guards. You are here
to protect me.
You are my property.
”

The man who had spoken to Annachie said to Septimius, “We
were
your property. But not after your death.” He glanced at Annachie and continued,
“And that should come very soon now.”

Sara heard the front door of the house close behind them.

Annachie advanced farther into the house with Septimius
still backing away from him. As he passed the last sword lying on the floor,
Septimius picked it up and, holding it awkwardly, pointed it at Annachie. “Do
not come any closer. I will have the emperor send his soldiers and they will
make short work of you, you will see.”

Sara and her father had followed the two men inside. She
heard Annachie say, “Then you had best hurry and call them, for you do not have
much longer to live.”

“Stay back. I am warning you.”

Annachie threw his head back and laughed. “You are warning
me?” Then he grew serious. “You have only yourself to blame. Who turned me into
a gladiator, eh? How much money have I made for you, Septimius? Did my blood
and sweat pay for this column?” Annachie slapped the marble column on his
right. “Or for that disgusting sculpture?”

In the foyer stood a marble statue of two men. Sara had
passed that statue many times, yet only now did she see it for what it really
was. A short, slightly heavy man had a larger, muscular man bent over in front
of him and it was very clear what was going on. A year ago, she would have
thought they were wrestling; now she knew better. Sara felt a wave of nausea when
she realized who the two men resembled. The sculptor had been kind to
Septimius; he was much fatter than the man in marble.

The likenesses must have dawned on Annachie at the same
moment. She heard a growl come from his throat and his face went pale. He bore
down more quickly on Septimius, who still held the sword out in front of him.
Septimius tried to thrust it at Annachie, but he easily side-stepped and
grabbed Septimius by the arm. He raised his knee and brought the slaver’s wrist
down on it, hard, and Sara heard the sickening crunch of bone, then the clang
of the sword hitting the floor.

Septimius screamed but managed to twist his way out of
Annachie’s grasp. He ran toward the garden, holding his injured arm in front of
him. Quintus saw him coming and stepped forward, his arms folded across his
chest. Septimius stopped, even though Quintus had made no threatening gesture
toward him. Sara wondered why until she moved to the side enough to see her
father’s face. Then she shuddered at the malice in his expression.

“Do you have this, Annachie?”

Annachie chuckled. “Oh, aye, thank you, Quintus,” he said,
then began to stalk Septimius again. The man ran back and forth looking for
some place to hide. He finally grabbed hold of a marble column, his back
foolishly turned to Annachie. “Please, I beg of you. Take her and go, but let
me live, please let me live. I promise not to come after you, I promise. Oh,
gods, help me!”

Annachie stopped several feet behind him. “Turn around,
Septimius.”

“No, I cannot, I do not want to see. Please, I am sorry for
what I did, but please spare me.”

“
Turn around, you filthy coward!
”

Annachie’s command was so loud, it frightened Drust, who
started to cry. Sara held him more closely, rocked him in her arms, and kissed
the downy fuzz on his head until he quieted.

“Turn around,” Annachie repeated. “I have never stabbed a
man in the back and I will not do so now. Not that you do not deserve it, you
pig. Now turn around and face your death like a man.”

Septimius finally turned, keeping contact all the while with
the column. Annachie again started toward him. Sara and her father moved to the
opposite side of the hallway.

Septimius raised his eyes to Annachie’s face. “I have always
loved you.”

Annachie roared, plunged his dagger into Septimius’ neck,
and held it there as the man sank to the floor. He stayed on his knees for a
long time beside Septimius’ corpse before he finally pulled the knife out and
stood. When he turned to them, his expression was so forlorn, it broke Sara’s
heart to see it. She ran to him and embraced him.

Quintus came over and put his hand on Annachie’s shoulder.
“Come.”

Annachie nodded and they started toward the entrance. As
they passed the statue, he stopped and stared at it again. An iron brazier that
would have taken two men to lift stood nearby. Annachie picked it up as if it
were a twig and brought it down on the carving.

An arm broke off. He swung again and the legs of both men
buckled. He struck several more times until marble dust filled the air. He was
crying and growling at the same time; sweat and tears poured down his face. His
breath came in short gasps.

Sara handed Drust to her father and went to Annachie. She
grabbed his arm. “Stop, Annachie, stop.”

With the brazier raised above his head, he paused and looked
down at her.

“Stop, my love, it is over now.”

The brazier crashed to the floor when Annachie dropped it.
With an anguished cry, he embraced Sara and his sobs made both their bodies
shake.

Sara reached up and stroked his hair. “Shh, it is all right
now. Everything is all right. It is over.”

He raised his head to look at her and Sara took his face in
her hands. “Time to put all this behind us. Our lives begin now. Come, my love,
let us go home.”

Epilogue

Returning from the river with her water buckets, Sara saw
Annachie chopping wood for their fire…but not alder wood. She understood now
why he took a whipping that day long ago, rather than cut down a sacred tree.

She was learning more and more about his gods and his
traditions and found them much more sensible than those of the Romans. The gods
of Annachie’s people were connected with the earth, with the seasons and the
cycle of life. And women were respected and honored as an integral part of the
tribe.

At the sound of Drust’s happy shriek, Sara turned and looked
at her father’s house, situated to the right of hers and Annachie’s. Quintus
and Annachie’s father, Nechtan, entertained their grandson with a little wooden
horse that Nechtan had carved. Her father had fashioned wheels for it and
attached a string, and Drust was now pulling it around in circles, laughing and
yelling, “C’mon, horsey.”

Sara smiled and thought back to their arrival among
Annachie’s people. Their voyage to Caledonia had been, thankfully, uneventful
which Sara knew was most likely due to the presence of her father. The news of
his disgrace had obviously not spread past Rome when they set out.

They were able to procure horses to take them into the
rugged mountains where Annachie had lived. As they rode into the tribe’s
village, people screamed and scattered or stared at Sara and her father. She
could not help but notice that a lot of the young women stared at Annachie…and
looked daggers at her.

Suddenly, a large man with graying hair appeared before
them. The resemblance to Annachie left no doubt who the man was.

Nechtan was clearly shocked to see Annachie alive. Annachie
dismounted and knelt before him. “Father,” he said in his own language, “I beg
you to allow me and my family to rejoin the tribe. I do not expect to be chief,
as I would have been before, but it will be enough to become a part of my
people again.”

Annachie had related their conversation to her later that
night, as she was still not fluent in his language.

Nechtan’s lips were set in a grim line. “You have been gone
for more than seven years. Why should I take you back? Especially when you
bring Romans into our camp.”

Before Annachie could answer, Nechtan’s gaze found Drust. He
looked at Annachie, his eyebrow cocked in question.

“Your grandson, Drust,” Annachie said. Sara watched the
older man’s chest swell with pride. “And my wife, Sara.”

Nechtan did not look very pleased with that. But then he
gestured toward Quintus. “Who is this Roman?”

“He is the Roman general who captured me.”

“And made you a slave, no doubt!” Nechtan roared.

Annachie had became conscious of all the people around them,
standing and staring, their mouths agape. “May we discuss this further in
private, Father?”

Nechtan hesitated. “Please?” Annachie asked. “Then you may
tell me to leave and I will never bother you again.”

His father grudgingly motioned all of them into his
house—the largest in the village, the chief’s home. Sara watched Annachie look
around and could almost see the memories that crowded his mind.

Nechtan did not appear happy to have Romans in his home, but
he gestured for them to take seats. Annachie had told her and Quintus about the
rule of hospitality his people lived by—Nechtan might send them away tomorrow,
but for one night at least they would have food and shelter.

Annachie began his story. Nechtan’s expression changed with
each stage of his son’s journey—from disgust at his slavery, to admiration when
told of his status as a gladiator. She knew when Annachie got to the part about
her and how he thrice rescued her from death. Nechtan looked at her with
surprise. When Annachie told him how Quintus had subsequently saved his life
and helped them travel home, Nechtan nodded to her father grudgingly.

Quintus had sensed the bent of the conversation at that
point and interjected, “Your son is a very brave man. The bravest I have ever
known.”

Blushing at the praise, Annachie translated for his father.

Nechtan thought for a moment, his gaze resting on each of
them in turn, but lingering on Drust. Then he stood and motioned for them to
follow him. As they emerged into the sunlight, a young man stepped in front of
Annachie. He was almost as big and muscular as Annachie, and again the
resemblance left no doubt that they were somehow related.

Annachie knelt again, this time before the young man, and bowed
his head. “Brother,” he said.

The man looked questioningly at their father.

“Stand, my son,” Nechtan said. After Annachie complied, he
addressed his next remarks to his other son and the people of the tribe. “My
first son, thought dead, has returned. Although taken in slavery, he has proven
his worth many times over and won his freedom. As firstborn, he will take his
rightful place as the next chief of this tribe.”

Sara had seen the shocked and almost frightened look
Annachie gave his brother. Even though she didn’t know enough of their language
to follow the conversation, she could tell that Annachie was worried about his
brother’s reaction to Nechtan’s words.

“Talorc,” Annachie began, “I—”

With a yell, Talorc launched himself at Annachie. Will he
always have to fight? Sara wondered. But in the next moment she saw that,
instead of pummeling each other, Talorc had Annachie in a bear hug and was
laughing and pounding him on the back. It took Annachie a moment to return the
embrace. When they separated, Annachie asked him, “You do not mind?”

Talorc gave a deep belly laugh. “Of course not, you dimwit.
I never wanted to be chief. Too many worries, too much to do. Phhtt, you can
have it.”

From that moment on, the three of them had been accepted
unquestioningly…even though Sara still caught many of the young women staring
at her as if they would like to stab her in the heart.

They had built their own home next to Nechtan’s, but the
chief had insisted that Quintus move in with him. They both doted on Drust so
much that Sara could hardly get him back from them to feed him and put him to
bed.

Annachie’s concern over Sara not adjusting to his way of
life also proved unfounded. She was more than content in their small round
house. It was cozy and comfortable and she loved being able to look over and
see Drust sleeping so peacefully across from them. Even the hard work did not
bother her. She was more fit and her muscles more firm than they had ever been
in her life.

And Annachie showed his appreciation of her new body almost
every night.

That is why she was surprised that he had not yet noticed
the softening of her belly.

She looked over at him again. He was bent over, stacking the
firewood next to the house. An impishness seized her that she could not resist.
She set down her buckets and came up behind him, grasping him around the waist
and squeezing.